Bohemian Rhapsody
by Song Birdy
Summary: [reposted, Blush slash, death, violence, drugs, and swing] Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me...
1. one

**--author's note.**

what the hell is wrong with me? I'm not sure. But, I wanted to write a Newsies fanfiction set to Bohemian Rhapsody. And the mood I'm in says: War Time. World War II. And also some Blink/Mush action. Oh screw it, the real reason is that I'm warped, and my severe writers block wanted to write something. So uhm, yeah. This. It's pretty bad. Well, in my opinion. Either way, it's going to be depressing. Harharhar. Another thing: This is reposted, as it got deleted for being a songfic. :( oh well. I've fixed what was wrong with it. I'm really not sure if I can keep the same title though? Hm. Don't know. Either way. Reposted. Legal now. Cheers.

**--disclaim.**

If I owned those lovable Newsies, do you think YOU all would know about them? As well as the theory that I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. In other words, Disney failed kindergarten for not sharing. I also don't own the lyrics to "Bohemian Rhapsody", they, like all great lyrics, belong to their musicians. Said musicians would be Queen. The failed kindergarten too.

**--prologue.**

His hands are shaking. There's a draft in the small one-room apartment that he and Mush share, and he can't sleep. Mush, on the other hand, is snoring loudly, with blankets tangled around his half-nude body, and a bit of drool dangling from his mouth.

There's a bottle of pills and a revolver sitting on the table opposite him. He frowns and thinks of Jack, handing him the weapon in a dark alley, whispering that he would need it the next day, and then Dutchy laughing hysterically and handing him the bottle. He isn't sure what the contents of it are, and feels no need to find out. Dutchy probably didn't even know that he was handing them to Blink. The gun however, he slides across the table to sit directly in front of him, and stares at it intently. He studies the ridges and the trigger, and thinks of pulling it. He wonders how loud the noise would be, or if it will kill Oscar. He wonders if he'll even have the nerve to pull it.

Mush rolls over in bed.

He looks up, startled from the noise, with his concentration broken. Nervously, he glances around the apartment. There's a poster from a performance of Benny Goodman on the wall, the six records that they had bought together sit on a bedside table, and an old phonograph sits on the table adjacent to it. Mush's and his clothes are strewn all over the furniture, and a fedora with a red feather in it sits cockily on the bedpost. There is a bed and a sofa, Mush is sleeping intently on the bed for the night, and Blink's blankets are set for the threadbare sofa. But his eyes land on Mush.

He feels a pang of guilt thinking about what is going to happen in the coming day. Mush, of course, will not be able to make the rent on his own, and will have to sell the phonograph, the records, and probably give up his fedora to Spot for a few bucks. The pang deepens as Mush squirms in bed, and Blink looks back at the gun. He has to pull the trigger. He has to shoot Oscar. He has to come back. He has to come back for Mush.

Mush rolls over again, obviously exasperated, and even more obviously, awake. He turns his head towards Blink, surprised, if not frightened.

"Whachadoinup?" he slurs, rubbing his eyes and blinking back sleep.

Blink jumps, a little frightened, and leans over, trying to conceal the weapon, "Nothin', just go back to sleep."

"Mmmkay." Mush rolls over and appears to go back to sleep. Blink finds his own jacket and places the gun in the pocket.

His gaze rests on the pills, he picks them up and examines them. He frowns and opens the bottle, measuring one out, pops it in his mouth and swallows.

As the world begins to spin, the only thing he can think is that he has to come back. He has to come back for Mush.

**--chapter one.**

Blink runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair, feeling apprehensive as the crowd passes him in the street. Nervously, he holds the revolver in his hand, careful not to pull the trigger in his pocket as a whirl of faces pass him by. Women dragging their children, people he could swear he's seen before, and homeless men begging for money turn to blurs and indescribable noises. The headlines about the war in Europe are flooding through his brain but not connecting.

He runs the scenario over in his head. Step one: See Oscar. Step Two: Wait for Oscar to pull his own gun. Step Three: Duck into the alleyway. Step Four: Shoot Oscar before he shoots you.

He is terrified, and regretting the past two weeks of his life. The pills, the money that he had taken from Mush, the music, the girls, the drinks, the threats, the fight, and the gun.

_"We'll finish this tomorrow, Blinkee. Well, I'll finish it, and you'll just lay there."_

_There had been the flash of a gun from Oscar's pocket and he laughed, leaving Blink and Jack in the bar. There was a cut on Blink's cheekbone, and a faint ringing in his ears as he was handed a gun by one of his best friends._

_"Trust me. You're gonna need it."_

Faintly in his head, the melody of "Goodnight, My Love" plays. More faces blur by him and he closes his eyes, his head is pained from the night before, and he feels the world beginning to close in on him.

When he feels a hand on his shoulder, the world slips back to normal. His grip on the gun tightens as he turns around.

"Jack? What are ya doin' here?" Part of him is relieved, but the other part is annoyed. He has not factored Jack into his Four Step Plan, "I'm supposed to meet Oscar by myself. As in alone, as in, YOU'RE NOT HERE."

Jack smirks and raises his eyebrows, "Just wanted you to know I got your back. He gets 'ya, and I'll get him. Don't worry."

Blink sighs, "Yeah. That's real comforting Jack," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Now go. If you're here, it's not gonna happen and I wanna get this over with."

Jack's face slips back into the crowd after one last smirk, and Blink swears he can here him yell, "If ya live, I got a filly for ya tonight!"

Blink turns around quickly, surveying the area and the crowd. Oscar is late, and his thoughts drift back to Mush. He's probably just getting to work now. He imagines him wiping down the tables and cleaning up the cafe before it opens for the night. He thinks of Mush doing the same thing he does every night, throwing on his fedora, picking up his clarinet, playing a few sets before he has to bus the tables again. He thinks of Mush at home, having a cigarette in the middle of the night or forgetting that it's Blink's turn to use the bed.

He thinks of the way Mush makes him feel. He never feels that way around Jack or Dutchy or Spot, and certainly not around the Delanceys. Around Mush he feels... relevant. He feels as though he doesn't need the pills or the sex or the drinks or the money. He feels real and important.

He swallows, thinking of that feeling. He wonders if Mush feels it with him too. He wonders if he dies today, will he miss him for more than just the rent? Or will he find a new roommate?

Blink banishes the thoughts. They're irrelevant distractions.

The gun. The Four Step Plan. Oscar. The Alley. The Gunshot. And then, he thinks, you leave.

Suddenly, he tenses. Oscar's face is visible in the crowd, and he's coming quickly towards Blink.

Blink stares, Oscar smirks and pulls something out of his pocket.

Blink nods towards the alley.

Step One: Oscar. Check. Step Two: Oscar pulls gun. Check. Step Three: The Alley. Check.

Oscar is smiling and twirling his gun. He deals out his usual insults. Recounts Blink's expenses to his business. Blink pulls his hand out of his pocket and aiming, closes his eyes and quickly pulls the trigger.

Step Four.

...Step four.

The gunshot.

It's louder than Blink expected, and more of a feeling of finality than anything else. Oscar stops mid-word and topples into the street, and his gun falls out of his hand. Blink stares in horror at Oscar's face and at the wound where blood is slowly seeping through Oscar's tattered shirt.

In the street, a woman screams and covers her small child's eyes. People along the street stop in their tracks and all of their gazes fall on Blink.

And he runs. He runs as though he were about to be shot himself.

Which, considering the circumstances, is highly likely.

He hears someone running up behind him and turns quickly to see that it's only Jack. All he can think of is the gunshot. The dead look on Oscar's face. The mother, the child, the crowd, the gunshot, the silence.

And even when he clears the area and the streets of New York City are busily ignorant of his crimes, all he can hear is the gunshot, and the silence that came afterwards that would haunt him for the rest of his life.


	2. two

**--author's note.**

This chapter. Is interesting. And I was a bit wired on caffeine when I wrote the beginning, and slowly going down when I wrote the end. And the person who usually beta's me isn't here... she's working. So uhm. If it's got grammatical and spelling errors (it shouldn't, as much as it bored me, I read it like, five times afterwards), then just tell me and I'll fix them.

**--another disclaimer.**

I still don't own Newsies. Or the lyrics to 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. Darn.

**--chapter two.**

He doesn't realize that he is still running until he reaches the apartment. Jack is somewhere far behind him, but Blink is certain that he knows where he'll be. Shakily, he shoves his key into the lock, because Mush has already left, and being more responsible than Blink, has locked the door.

Blink knows that no one is following him. He knows that there is nobody in the corridor, save for a balding cat and a few empty bottles of milk. He knows that he's gotten away.

And he's still frightened. The key jostles around and he kicks the door open, quickly shutting and locking it behind him. He lets out a sigh of breath and falls onto the bed.

It is late afternoon, and vaguely, he can hear Mrs. Jacobson next door preparing dinner for her family. Blink breathes in deeply, desperately trying to taste the roasting beef through the air.

There is a knock on the door.

Terrified, he doesn't move. He thinks to himself, as though trying to telepathically convey the message to the visitor, _No one is home_... a louder knock- _no one is home_... He thinks the door is about to cave in- _NO ONE IS_-

"BLINK."

Jack's voice is easy to recognize. Blink quickly dashes to the door to let the Cowboy in.

Standing in the doorway, Jack is drenched with sweat. He gives Blink a once over and scoots his way into the room.

"Are you okay?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice, as he walks to the table and picks up the bottle of pills, still full minus the one.

"I'm fine." Blink answers shakily. He pulls out the revolver and places it under the bed hastily while Jack's back is turned to him. He doesn't want Mush to find it in his pocket or on the table when he comes home.

"You want these?" Jack shakes the bottle after examining its contents. Blink shakes his head and Jack continues, "That was a good shot back there."

Blink swallows, not wanting to think of it, but the hollow look of death in Oscar's eyes flashes back across his mind, and he can remember every detail of the hallowing scene; the mother, the scream, the stares, the way the bustle seemed to stop, Oscar's gun lying a few feet from his body, and running. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Mush at the cafe tonight?" Jack asks awkwardly. Blink wonders why he asked, because Mush is at the cafe every night. He just nods. "You gonna go?"

Blink thinks it over for a moment, "Yeah, I think I might."

"Yeah."

They sit in silence until Jack announces that he's meeting Sarah for a soda and possibly a movie.

But before he leaves, he adds, "And you'd better watch out for Morris, Kid, I know you made tracks back there, but lotsa folks saw you shoot 'im. Just... don't go gettin' yourself shot too."

Blink nods, suddenly even more terrified at the prospect of being shot. "I'll be careful." And he shuts the door.

He had only worried about the law. About going to jail. About leaving Mush with no way to make the rent. Not about being shot or dying. He locks the door again and looks around nervously.

The scent of the roast beef is filling the air now, and Blink's stomach is screaming at him to fill it, seeing how he hasn't eaten since the night before.

He checks the cupboards. Nothing. He can't leave for food. He has to think of a safe place to go... A safe place...

_There is no safe place anymore_. At least with Oscar, there had been a chance of him letting Blink live, but now that he was dead, Morris would not, under any circumstances, let Blink get away. Not with his debt and Oscar's death on his head.

His stomach distracted him again.

_There is no safe place_, he reminds himself. He hopes that Mush brings home leftovers again. Sometimes he does, and sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he has money when he comes home, and sometimes he doesn't. Blink never comes home with money, save for when he's done a job for Jack or Dutchy delivering some bottle of pills or some conspicuous package.

But those jobs always brought in more money than Mush's job at the cafe.

He's not proud to say that he does them. And he's even less proud to admit that he would love to keep some of the things he delivers, but the money is necessary, and it's better than being broke and homeless.

At least he has Mush.

He sometimes wants to tell Mush what he does while he's gone. About the pills and the drinks and the girls and Oscar and Morris and Jack and Dutchy and the Four Step Plan... but he's afraid of what Mush will think of him if he knows. He wants Mush to think he's a good person.

Which he knows is a lie.

And so, instead of leaving the apartment to find Dutchy, he turns on a record and lies down on the bed, letting himself close his eyes.

But he can't sleep.

So he listens to the entire record.

He paces.

He stares out the window.

He feels the gun beneath the bed, but does not pull it out. He wants it gone, but he can't throw it out the window. The police would find it. Not that there weren't witnesses anyway.

Hours pass.

He feels as though he's going crazy. Song after song. The church tower down the street rings its bells every hour.

_Ten rings._

_Eleven rings._

_Twelve rings._

He knows he's going crazy. The gunshot, the silence, the scream, the running.

_Don't go gettin' yourself shot too..._

The key is turning in the door.

Either Mush is home, or death doesn't know how to knock.

The latter, thankfully, is incorrect and Mush walks in, looking tired with the fedora propped onto his head and his suspenders let down. He almost doesn't see Blink, who is sitting on the edge of the bed silently for a moment.

"Oh!" He says, setting down his clarinet case and pulling the hat off his head to reveal his messy curls, "I didn't see ya there, Kid."

Jack and Mush are the only ones who ever call him 'Kid' anymore.

Blink just stares. Unaware of what to say without blurting out, _sorry I just killed Oscar Delancey, and I lied to you about the drugs and the pills and I went out drinking the other night instead of seeing you play and I'm sorry, and I didn't mean to hurt you or put you in any danger but I DID, and I'm sorry- I'm sorry- I'm sorry- I'm sorry..._

So he just stares. Mush has produced a bag of food.

"They had leftovers tonight," he says, setting it on the table, "I thought you might be hungry seein' how you didn't come in. How was your-" But he catches the terrified look in Blink's eye, "Are you..." he pauses, "Are you okay?"

Blink looks up at him. He can't lie again. Slowly, he shakes his head, not realizing that the rest of him is shaking as well.

Mush stops what he's doing and sits down next to him. He places a hand on Blink's shoulder and squeezes it, "Hey, I'm sure it'll get better, whatever it is."

Something inside Blink snapped. _I'm sorry_.

"I'm sorry." He says, fighting back the tears that he has always been able to suppress before.

"What for?" Mush asks, looking down but at Blink's face at the same time.

"I-I-" Blink stutters for a moment, "I got in a fight.. with Oscar Delancey."

Mush stands up and goes to the food again, "Is that all?" He asks, sounding relieved.

"No."

Mush looks up again, picking up a plate from the counter and setting the cold mashed potatoes and a half-eaten slice of beef onto it for Blink.

"He uh-" Blink swallows, "I owed him a lot of money. And I couldn't, y'know, pay. 'Cause of the rent and all that, and he was gonna kill me."

"What'd ya do?"

"I shot 'im instead. I was selfish, and I coulda just had a little less booze or few more lonely nights-" He is aware that he is rambling, but momentarily, he doesn't care, "and I coulda... I coulda... I shouldn't'a... Morris is gonna kill me, Mushee... I just- I can't- Oh God. Oh God. I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to. I just- I thought if I- Oh _God_-"

Blink is suddenly crying more than he ever has in his entire life. Mush sets down the food and walks over to the bed to sit next to him. He cradles his head gently against his chest, rubbing Blink's shoulder lightly with his other hand, whispering, "It's okay... it's okay..."

"I'm sorry..." Blink mutters under his breath, trying to regain control of himself.

Mush looks sad as Blink sits back up, and it stings. He looks at Blink as though he feels sorry for him, but then he answers, "It's okay. I swear it'll be okay."

Blink wipes his nose and nods.

"You want that food?" Mush asks, standing back up. Blink nods again and Mush hands it to him.

He devours it. He doesn't feel the hunger anymore, and he doesn't feel crazy anymore...

But he still feels like a murderer. He is still shaking and he still feels as though he's going to cry again.

Mush begins to set up the couch for him to go to sleep.

Blink stands up and quickly grabs Mush by the arm, but then loosens his grip, "Stay with me?" He asks, "Just for tonight... so I can sleep."

Mush nods slowly, uncertainly. But as they lay down, Blink feels Mush's arm wrap protectively around his torso, and the soft of Mush's lips brushing against the back of his head. And Blink smiles.

_It would be heavenly, to hold you again in a dream..._


	3. three

**--author's note.**

It's been forever since I've written anything on this. So getting back into the swing of it was interesting. As of late, I've been in a serious car accident and am pretty much sore like nobody's business. My car has been totaled, and I'm pretty much stuck at home, and thus... chapter three! Haha, really, it sucks beyond belief. Mm. Pretty short chapter all in all. Thanks for the reviews. And I really WOULD suggest listening to Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" before/during/after reading this... because it will suddenly all make sense as to what cycle I'm going in, I swear. But yay for the slashy end of this chapter!

**--disclaimer.**

I still don't own _Newsies_. Or "Bohemian Rhapsody". Go figure.

**--chapter three.**

Dutchy knocks warily on the door outside of Morris's apartment. He clutches a bottle of pills that Jack has given to him and shifts his weight back and forth, hoping that the old woman who lives next door won't open her door and ask him to help feed her cats.

Delivering things for Jack has slowly become less and less worth the money that Dutchy receives. He runs a hand through his blonde hair and shuffles his feet again. The door swings opened and Morris stands, looking a mixture of tired, angry, and insane.

His hair is rumpled and his suspenders hang loose around his hips and Dutchy's eyes trail down to the gun in his hand. Shrugging it off as just something Morris does, Dutchy indicates the bottle by shaking it and says, "From Jack."

Morris smirks, "Since when did Jacky-boy stop making his own deliveries?"

"He's in Brooklyn today," Dutchy lies, "Had some business with Spot, y'know?"

Morris raises an eyebrow in obvious disbelief, "Yeah. I bet that's where he is."

Dutchy shuffles and tosses the bottle at Morris, who closely examines the contents of the bottle, "It is."

"There's some missin'."

Dutchy shrugs, "I didn't take 'em if that's what you're gettin' at." He feels his heart beating faster in his chest. His lies are getting thinner, and he has not forgotten about the gun gripped in Morris's hand.

"Now.." Morris starts, pacing around behind Dutchy into the hallway. He checks to see if there are any neighbors hanging about, and sees no one, "Why would I think a thing like that?" He asks, his voice positively dripping with disdain. He grips one of Dutchy's shoulder's tightly with his hand, and with the other, he holds the gun against the side of the blonde boy's neck. "'Cause I know Blinky Boy's the one who takes these... not you. You're too drunk to realize what's in this little bottle. So I know ya seen 'im. And I wants ya to give him a message for me, okay?"

Dutchy nods slowly, with much restrain and the muscles in his neck twitching.

"I want you to tell him that he'd better watch his back.. and Mush's. 'Cause when I find that apartment of theirs, they're gonna be deader than Oscar ever was."

Dutchy forces down the impulse to mention that there is no way to be deader than another person, as there is a gun pointed at his jugular.

Morris pushes him down the hallway, and Dutchy falls onto his hands as the door slams shut.

He takes a breath in, turns his head, and runs.

---

Blink wakes before Mush does. Mush's arm is thrown carelessly across his torso, and his leg is tangled with Blink's.

Blink does not dare to move, for fear of disturbing Mush's peaceful snoring. Instead, thoughts run rampantly through his mind.

He has to leave. He can't stay here and endanger Mush any longer. He can't pretend that he didn't shoot Oscar, or that he isn't still under the threat of death.

He has to leave, or he has to kill Morris.

Blink doesn't realize that he's shaking.

Instinctively, Mush grumbles and tightens his grip around his roommate, shushing him quietly and slowly rubbing his hair. Blink shrinks back into him and grumbles something under his own breath. Mush responds by simply massaging his head a little bit more.

"Mush.." he mumbles, "Mush."

Mush groggily makes some sort of incoherent sleepy noise, and Blink smiles. It is such a Mush sort of noise, Blink notes, to mumble a bit before he can for real words, and then sentences.

He then remembers what he is saying, "Mush... what are you doing?"

"Mmm. Sleeping."

Blink almost laughs aloud, "No really."

"With you."

"What?" Blink is perplexed, but still doesn't move, because despite Mush's apparent lapse out of consciousness, his grip is still tight around his middle body.

"Sleeping. Sh. Sleeping with you. You. Sleep."

Blink closes his eyes again. But all he thinks is of Oscar's face.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I have to leave you again.

He has to leave this again.

He has to leave Mush's arm around him, his warm breath in his ear, and his fingers slowly massaging the back of his neck. The relationship he cannot describe, the feeling of worth and importance he has around his darker skinned roommate, and the feeling he has lying in bed with him, bodies entangled and moving as one breathing creature.

Blink turns beneath Mush's arm to face him. Mush grumbles, mildly annoyed to be woken from his sleep again.

"Mush, I'm sorry." He whispers quietly.

Suddenly Mush's eyes are wide open. Big and brown, Blink can hardly keep from wanting to pull away and hide from him rather than look into them. "Stop apologizing and go to sleep."

"No really, I am." Blink says, more hushed, but more urgent.

Mush runs a hand on the side of his face.

"I know. Blink, I-"

The corner of Blink's mouth twitches, and he tilts his head down.

"Kid?" He tilts his head down to lock eyes with Blink's, and Blink sees in them his forgiveness. He sees in them what he has been looking for since the moment the gun shot was fired. Possibly before.

"I'm not leaving you, Kid, okay? Not ever." And Mush brushes his lips against Blink's forehead lightly, but in a way that he never has before.

And Blink does what feels right for the first time in years. He presses his lips against Mush's. For a brief moment, he is frightened that Mush will pull away and leave him alone with a bottle of pills again.

But Mush deepens the kiss and pulls Blink even closer to him.

Without breaking their mouths apart, Blink mumbles, "Not ever."


	4. four

**--author's note.**

So. I wasn't really even thinking about finishing this for ages. But I wanted to all of a sudden. Well, my AP Lit teacher, well, I wouldn't say inspired me, but provoked me to write. I'm tired of her calling my style weak, and just basically pissing on my writing. So I wanted to write something for myself.

And do I smell a hint of Javid? Aye. Mm. I think that perhaps the last two sentences of this chapter are my favorite. So deliciously sinful.

**--disclaimer.**

As per usual, I don't own Newsies, or Bohemian Rhapsody. Go figure. Oh and the last lyric either.

**--chapter four.  
**

Jack is too young for the draft, and too old to go back to school. So, he does what he has always done. He sells pills, he buys girls, and he listens to swing records and gets into fights.

He never takes pills, and he never drinks, because David tells him that it's wrong. He smokes, but so does David when he's angry, and he swears because that's how his mother raised him.

Not that she raised him that well.

Sometimes he thinks that it was Davey who really raised him, instead of his now dead, alcoholic mother.

He is in a limbo, resting at the point past his adolescence and just before he will meet the fate he has grown to accept. He will be drafted, he will go where they tell him, and he'll either come home a hero, or die for his country, even though he's never been out of New York City.

Presently, he drops a cigarette on the dusty pavement of the alley and waits for the boys to show up.

Midnight meetings remind him of the days of his youth, playing baseball with Racetrack and sneaking up on girls to put spiders down their backs. He only wishes that this was about torturing Sarah Jacobs and her friends.

The distinct smell of cigar and syncopated clunking identifies Racetrack and Crutchy as they approach. Jack turns to meet them and smirks.

"Ya're late. As usual, boys."

Crutchy laughs, a sound that, although resembling that of a goat, Jack finds soothing in a tense moment like this.

"This gonna take long, huh Cowboy?" Racetrack demands, tapping his cigar and rubbing his arm, "It's damn cold out here."

Jack replies, "If you'se guys knew how to be on time, it'd be done by now."

The shorter boy shuffles impatiently for the next few minutes. His cigar burns out, and Crutchy leans up against the wall. Jack is humming something that Racetrack discerns as a Count Basie tune, and he joins in, to the extent that any self-respecting Higgins boy would. Jack paces, and time passes. They don't talk much.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes.

Twenty minutes.

Fourty five minutes.

And then they hear something.

Snitch's voice, "Come on guys, let's get him back here. The Cowboy'll take care of 'im."

Jack looks up from where he seems to have been napping under the shadow of his hat.

Snitch, David, Skittery, Dutchy. David is draped over Skittery and Dutchy's shoulders as they struggle to almost drag him into the alley. He coughs, and in the dark, Jack can't tell if it's blood that falls to the ground. His eye is slowly swelling up and his usually bouncy curls are matted down, with what Jack only assumes to be blood.

Not thinking, Jack rushes towards them and takes David into his arms. He holds him close and then pushes him away for a moment.

"What happened?" He asks, carefully guiding Davey to a seat on a crate.

Skittery stuffs his hands into his pocket, "We found him like this, a couple blocks back. We think it's Morris."

Jack glances back to David, who nods.

"Well he ain't gonna get away with this-" Jack starts, not knowing quite how to reflect his emotions, "-He ain't gonna- He can't just- We can't just-"

"Jack," Crutchy stops him, "We know."

And Jack, dumbfounded, sits down next to Davey, who looks at him with the widest eyes he's ever seen.

"Say Jack-" Skittery starts, "You don't think this means- I mean, he might not just want... You know."

"Blink." Jack finishes, "He might not just want to get Blink, you mean."

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I know."

"And?"

"I don't know." Jack's expression is difficult to read, and he takes up David's hand next to him, just to make sure he's still there.

Snitch is gaping at him, terrified, "He's gonna make this a war, Jack. He's gonna get us all, one by one. He'll get them boys from Queens down here and-"

"THEN GO." Jack shouts. "Go, leave. I don't care. Keep yourself safe. I can't protect you from them, and I can't stop Morris from what he's doing, so go. I'm not just asking you, I'm telling you. Go to Brooklyn. Tell Spot I sent ya's. He'll know what I mean."

Crutchy looks on him, in empathy rather than fear, "Don't talk like that Jack."

"Especially you, Crutch. Ain't no use in all of us dyin', is there? Just 'cause 'a Blink."

Jack pulls David closer to him, not knowing what to do or say. "I'll meet you guys there tomorrow. Maybe the day after."

They stare, almost blankly.

And Jack yells, "GO. NOW. If you're gonna be cowards, then LEAVE."

And one by one, they do. Until Racetrack tosses his cigar to the ground, and grumbles a goodbye so quiet, that Jack can barely discern it from his regular breathing patterns.

Their footsteps echo in the distance until the city streets are silent again, all but David's soft sobbing.

Jack pushes David's face away from his chest, and rubs the rough cut on David's eye with his calloused thumb. David winces in pain, but Jack squeezes his shoulder lightly, in something as simple and perfect and loving as the comfort of his best friend.

Jack runs his fingers through David's matted hair, and finds the cut. He runs his hands over David's torso, finding each nick and bruise, and treating it with as much care as he can find in his rough and fumbling fingertips.

"You wanna come to my place tonight, huh Davey?" Jack asks after having completed his inspection of the damage.

David shakes his head, "I wanna make sure Mama, Sarah, and Les are okay."

Sometimes, Jack forgets about David's father's death. It has only been six months, maybe less, and Jack forgets about Davey's position as the head of his home.

And then he forgets about Morris.

"Bring them too. I don't want them there tonight."

David gives him a questioning look.

"Morris knows where it is."

And David nods.

Hours later, Jack sits up alone. Sarah is snoring on the floor, with her arm wrapped around Les, Esther snoozes in the chair in the corner, and David occupies Jack's bed, his torso wrapped with makeshift bandages.

And far away, though he can't see it, smoke rises from an apartment building in the Jewish part of town.

---

And Mush groans as Blink's hands and mouth journey to forbidden places. And the world falls down around them, but they don't seem to care. Because _It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing_...


	5. five

**five.**

**author's notes.** ugh, do you know how much I hate this chapter? I do. a lot. actually, I'm just happy that I ACTUALLY FINISHED A MULTICHAPTERED FANFICTION. Amazing. In all, I like the very end. The rest is kind of... egh.

So, I hope you enjoy it, in a sort of disgustingly sad way.

It's over after this.

--

The natural spring in Mush's step is not there today, his eyes are distant as he clears tables, and as his balding boss barks orders at him, he sighs and obeys instead of making a good-natured sarcastic remark. If one were to merely unbutton the first buttons of his shirt, they would find hidden bruises on his chest, and further down on his hips.

He jumps at any out of place noise. His eyes trail to the door every time a rush of cold hits his body. At one point, he thinks he sees a familiar bowler cap and drops a plate of food. He is docked the hour's pay.

His hand trembles at the sound of a popping cork, and he only forgets what has happened when his fingers slide across his clarinet, soft clear notes drifting through the air as the crowd gets up to dance.

Blink's face swims through his mind, the warmth of his body pressed against his in the night, and legs entangled as tongues battled for dominance of the other.

No, it was nothing like kissing girls.

The walk home is (_terrifying_) quiet. He pulls his fedora over his forehead to conceal his face, and pops his collar, syncopating his steps to find comfort in the quick paced rhythm.

--

Jack's hand is gripped into the back of David's Jewish curls when the door slams open. Morris's gun is pointed at the back of those curls, and never at Jack, but David is too far asleep to notice.

Esther Jacobs is sobbing and holding her youngest son, while Sarah, beautiful Sarah, runs and slams her frail body into Morris Delancey, who falls back against the wall momentarily, and then brushes Sarah to the ground with a single sweep of his elbow.

David sits up in bed and his eyes widen at the sight of the barrel. Jack stands strongly behind him.

"What d'ya want, Morris?"

"Blink. That's all I want, Jack-y, and you know it."

--

_Mush, I need you to leave town._

There is a rat scurrying across the floor.

_Mush, will you leave town?_

It slips into a hole in the wall.

_Good, there might actually be food in the next apartment._

Blink stands and paces. The gun is heavy in his left pocket and he's shivering. He hasn't taken pills in days, he hasn't had a drink in days, he hasn't left the apartment in days.

Mush comes and Mush goes, and Blink clings to him, because he is the only thing that connects him to reality anymore.

Blink knows it though, that he needs Mush to leave him. He needs Mush to go away, to Saint Louis or down to New Orleans like he's always wanted, he needs him to leave so that Blink can finish this.

_So that I can die._

Three knocks.

_That's Mush._

He opens the door, shivering, and throwing the fedora off of his head. He smiles at the sight of Blink, propped on the edge of the bed, and runs over and tackles him good-naturedly.

It's hard to remember that you want him to go when his coffee scented breath is on your face.

Blink presses his lips up to Mush's softly and rolls him off to the side. Mush leans up onto his forearms and frowns.

"I'm scared to go out anymore, Blink." He admits after a moment, "Like, when I'm here, everything is okay, but when I'm out, everyone turns into Morris, and I feel like I'm hiding from him. They burned down David's building, did you know that? Just like that, because he knew you-"

"I-" Blink pauses, "I know. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I think - I think you need to leave."

"Leave New York?"

Blink lowers his eyes, he cannot send his only friend away, "Yeah, but only for a little while. I just need you to leave and forget about me, so I can finish this thing. If you come back and I'm here, that's great, Mush, but if you-"

"Stop it, Blink, I'm not leaving you. This is me and you and I lo-"

But he never finishes his sentence.

The doorknob is violently shaking, and Mush pushes Blink onto the fire escape before it slams opened.

Blink listens intently through the window, finding it hard to breathe despite the open air surrounding him.

"He ain't here, Morris, so why don't you take yourself somewhere else for awhile?" Mush is saying, not entirely convincingly.

"Mush, you're like brothers," Morris is saying, "I know you know where he is, all ya gotsta do is tell me so I-"

"So you can kill him?" Mush yells back, and then yelps.

Blink shuts his eyes tightly.

This isn't happening. This isn't happen- THIS ISN'T-

"Yeah, Mush. So I can kill 'im. I mean, come on, do you really want a roommate who brings his drugs and guns up in here, and ya know, guys like me."

"It ain't that kind of thing that keeps him around here, ya know."

"Oh really, Mushee?" Morris's voice lowers, "'Cause I thought he was just using you to pay the rent so he could buy his whores. Yeah, whores, Mush."

_A crash._

Mush only throws things when he's angry.

"That. Don't matter anymore. Go away."

"Or the drugs, Mush?" sing-song, like a nightmare, or the insane asylum, "or the booze or the card games-"

Blink is shaking.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

The church bells begin to ring and he can barely hear it when Mush yells over them.

There's a gunshot.

Everything is his fault. The drugs, the girls, the money, the drinks. The Four Step Plan, the sex, the food, the gun. Everything. Mush is lying dead on the floor, and Blink is running in full range of the barrel of a gun, and it is all his fault.

He's screaming, and the bells are ringing.

_One ring._

_Two rings._

_Three rings._

He stops directly on top of Morris, and gasps before falling, grasping is blood-soaked torso.

And the last thing he hears is the silence.

--

_Any way the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me._  
- **Queen, _Bohemian Rhapsody_.**

--

_fin. _

I will, in fact, love you forever if you review this fiction. It's over, I'm glad. But I still want reviews.


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